Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
one
Mandy
Loud, jovial voices swell around me in the bar.
Friday night in Boston. An important baseball game is on every single one of the eighteen televisions and the smell of fried food and alcohol is strong in the air. The cold glass feels like a prop in my hand. Something to make me look older. Like I belong. I’ve been trying to pretend I’m one of the cool, cultured, second-year psych majors for a few weeks now, but I still feel like I’m acting. Is that ever going to change?
One of my study group friends, Becca, complains loudly about one of our professors and everyone in our circle groans in agreement. I bury my face in the rim of my cocktail, so I don’t have to lie. I like that professor. She’s a little demanding and a tough critic, but don’t we all want to be great psychologists one day? Shouldn’t we be challenged so we can rise to the occasion?
Thoughts like these are what got me labeled a goody two-shoes in high school. A suck up, a brown-noser, the teacher’s pet, a nerd. I was really hoping college would be different, that I’ll fit in, but so far, I just feel like a fraud. I don’t belong in a loud sports bar on a Friday night. I want to be on a long walk, discovering this new town, having low-key adventures that involve coffee and reading and wind in my face. And I hate waking up hungover.
“Mandy!” Another one of the girls, Kandice, throws her arm around my shoulders. “Our little resident genius. What do you think of Dr. Brewer? Do you want to throat-punch her like we do? Are you volunteering?”
Everyone laughs.
I shift uncomfortably in my loafers.
Even my shoes mark me as a loser. Who wears a pleated skirt and a tucked-in sweater to a bar? My pearl earrings—a gift from my Nan—are a far cry from the fun, dangly, beaded creations worn by my study group mates. It’s only a matter of time before they realize I’m a super dork and stop inviting me out to bars.
Isn’t that what you want?
Yes. But also…no. I want friends. I want to belong. I’ve been the unrelatable achiever girl for my whole life and I guess I just wanted to be appreciated for that, instead of shunned. Is that even a possibility? Will this group of girls eventually realize I’m massively lame and I’ll go back to spending my Friday nights alone in the library forever? Probably.
Lie. Complain about the teacher.
Fit in at all costs.
“Um…yeah.” The ice cubes rattle in my drink. “I mean, she’s like the human version of a raptor. Stalking the aisles with her claws out, steam coming out of her nostrils, waiting for one of us to make a false move, so she can slash us to ribbons.” I huff a breath. “Is this second-year psych or Jurassic Park?”
They stare at me in silence for two beats, before bursting out laughing.
My shoulders slump in relief.
“You could just say ‘she sucks’ Mandy,” Becca giggles.
“Our genius girl is so extra. Always has to be outdoing us, doesn’t she?” Kandice is joking, but there’s a subtle glint in her eyes as she drops her arms from around my shoulders. “You still haven’t revealed your grade on the midterm. We both got C’s. You?”
Didn’t get a single question incorrect.
I even nailed the extra credit.
But I can’t say this out loud. I’m already alienating myself just by breathing. I already have the disadvantage of being a year younger than anyone in the group. Maybe they’re just keeping me around for my study notes.
“Mandy?” Kandice prompts me. “Your grade?”
“Oh, um—”
I’m saved from having to answer when Becca grabs my forearm. “Oh my God, you guys. They’re here. They just walked in. Holy shit.”
“Who is here?” I ask, unable to see over the crowd, thanks to my lack of height.
Kandice fans herself. “Sometimes on Friday nights, these three firemen come in after their shift. They’re all panty droppers, but one of them is a little extra…” She searches the ceiling for her description. “I don’t know. He’s like…fuck.”
“He’s hot, heroic-looking. Mysterious,” Becca inserts enthusiastically. “He never takes a girl home. Just wants to watch the game. He literally ignores the legion of women in the bar who would strip for him on command. No interest, whatsoever. And he has a beard.”
“Maybe he has a girlfriend?” I suggest.
“I would kill to find a loyal man like that,” Kandice sighs. “No wedding ring, but yeah. Maybe he has some lucky lady at home.”
Becca and Kandice continue to expound on the many positive qualities of the firefighter. I’m nodding along, but sort of zoning out. Another thing that makes me the odd one out in every group of girls is my lack of interest in the opposite sex. Ryan Reynolds gives me a flutter in my belly. I’ve watched Free Guy an embarrassing number of times. But real-life men always seem belchy and sloppy and indecisive. I’d rather be studying or exploring little shops around Boston. Especially if they have books. Either that, or I’d be working on extra credit to bolster my grades. I’m a sucker for earning the admiration of a teacher.